


Albion's Ascension

by Buried_Antiquity



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: I'm going to stop these rambling tags now, Middle Ages, Roman Catholicism, Saints, Sword in the Stone, War, arthur isn't a prince, fiefs, forgive my difficulty with paragraphs, gotta get that high middle ages good shit, i may or may not have added too many characters, i set this in the 1100s instead of the 500s, magic of course, much war, oh man HERE WE GO, okay so basically this is my retelling of Merlin with more of aurthrian legend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23366254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buried_Antiquity/pseuds/Buried_Antiquity
Summary: A vision is given to an oracle, and changes the fates of two who are already intertwined. Arthur is whisked away from Uther and raised as a minor noble. Merlin is a village boy trained in his magic by druids. But fate does not wait forever for Albion's rising.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Kudos: 4





	1. A Vision and a Prince

Cafell remembered after it was all over that the vision was the most vivid one she ever had. 

_She was in Camelot’s lower town. Nestled by overgrown buildings and young trees was the sword in the stone or what was left of it, forgotten in the minds of everyday men, the sword lived on in the tales of children and as an afterthought to scholars._

_Except for this time, the sword was missing._

_Then she saw a blazing throne. Two silhouettes were in the scene. They were in vivid color, but she couldn't see their blurred faces._

_The silhouette seated on the celestial throne held the sword in the left hand, olive branches in the right._

_What she felt most poignantly in the scene was the magic. The silhouette on the right-hand side of the ruler was magic incarnate._

_A hollow voice whispered, “The Druid, Emrys, is coming upon your people.”_

_She was then in the spot she spent a lot of time in her childhood. Where the brook babbled and where her brother strewn the leaves trying to capture the likeness of anything that moved._

_The once old Roman fort that loomed in the distance was rebuilt. Its walls were not crumbling, and golden light surrounded it._

_The last thing she saw before the trumpets of war rang out, was the fort’s banner: white with a red cross. Purity and blood. Albion._

_The fort was engulfed in flames, the bloodied banner of Uther’s Camelot rode with the invading army._

_Albion was rising, but its very existence was threatened._

——

Cafell woke up, gasping for air. For a moment, she still believed she was in the smoke flooded plain, running in vain to the fort.

She quickly grabbed a wool shawl from the small organized pile of smocks, shawls, and stockings in her tent. She had little but made do. 

With a sense of urgency, the young woman rushed out into the humid spring air. It was a week after Ostara, and still, the druid camp held the air of renewal. Despite this, Cafell only felt foreboding, her magic steered her towards Idris's tent towards the center of the field. She must tell him what she saw. 

Before she could make her presence known, Idris’s voice interrupted her racing thoughts, _“Cafell, what disturbs you during this time of rebirth?”_ He slowly opened his tent flap and led her to the dying embers of the evening’s campfire. 

“I—I saw—Albion is rising,” she blurted out. Idris’s eyes widened as she told him every detail of her vision.

"But it makes no sense. Why would the King persecute the creation of Albion? He is a friend to magic, he has a court sorceress, he…" Idris's voice couldn't drown out her racing thoughts.

Cafell found herself writhing her hands. There was a chance of Albion never unifying, and its destroyer was in the present. 

Idris wrapped a supportive arm around her shoulder and stoked the fire with a whispering of words, "The future is not set in stone. You may have seen one of the many different paths. Why would the King turn on magic after embracing it for two decades on the throne?"

“I—I don't know.”

Despite his attempts at reassurance, Idris was less confident then he seemed. Cafell was blessed with a gift of every few generations. She was an oracle. Seers could be trained, but Oracles derived the future in dreams with a talent that was innate and strengthened in time. 

Idris could only hope her young age meant she may be wrong, perhaps more training would either confirm or deny the dream’s meaning. Cafell may have also misinterpreted the ending. Why would Uther turn on magic? Nimueh, his court sorceress, was not only that but a high priestess. 

But, Idris knew if Cafell was right, then Emys and the Once and Future King were coming: it was only a matter of time. 

Before he could tell Cafell to go get some sleep, he was distracted by the distant sounds of horse hooves. Cafell turned towards him with wide eyes. 

“It’s Uther,” she whispered, “there’s too many of them to be just travelers or bandits.”

Idris then suddenly heard the rallying cry he so often heard when an enemy was about to face the might of Camelot. 

“For the love of Camelot!”

The cry screeched across the camp as Idris saw other druids begin to slowly walk out of their tents, confused.

“Cafell, ring the warning bell," Idris said, pulling her up roughly. She nodded, and he began to rally and awake his sleep dazed people.

That was when the first fiery arrow shot down a man trying to collapse his tent. Then another, then another. Again another. The camp was on fire. 

Smoke clogged his mouth and nose, horses filled his vision thundered across the trampled meadow, and the screaming sound of fury rang in his ears. 

Idris began to grab anyone he could and began to chant a teleportation spell to an old campsite. One teleportation trip at a time, he took more and more half-dead survivors. It was after the fifth trip, he promptly collapsed in their new marooned spot. 

——

Idris woke up to the touch of warm cloth to his forehead. He forced himself to open his eyes and saw Cafell. He sighed in relief. She must have gotten to the warning bell. 

“It’s been a few hours, Idris. You need to get some rest. Teleportation spells are straining,” she said. 

Adnewyn, the camp’s healer, was now speaking. He too looked like he emerged from the fight worse from wear with the frazzled hair and bloodied face 

“Cafell, Adewyn, was it our king?” Idris asked. It was the last test of Cafell‘s vision. 

“We sent out scouts afterward. Uther’s banner has been planted next to the destroyed main altar,” Adenwyn explained quietly while adjusting the cold compress on Idris's forehead, "Not only that, but Ffrwd was passing through Camelot for supplies at the time. Uther had made a proclamation against the evils of magic. Druid and sorcerer alike are to be burned if caught.” 

“Where is Ffrwd, we need the entire report. Was it possible that Uther was enchanted or—” 

“Uther burned Ffrwd at the stake after torturing him for the location of the camp. He was only able to speak to me on the stake itself when he didn’t have iron shackles on.”

Cafell, who had been quiet, spoke: “What will we do now?” 

Idris said only what he felt he could say: "Albion is rising. If Uther opposes this, then we cannot let her fall. You were given this vision for a reason, Cafell. We have to change something pertaining to Uther, or all is lost," Idris said. A new conviction was behind his words.

Adewyn raised an eyebrow in curiosity, though it was clear he wasn’t feeling the same confidence.

——

It was only when the camp had calmed down, treated their injured, counted their dead, and assembled the living did the fledgling Druid outcasts learn about Cafell’s vision.

Idris saw the surprised expressions of the Druid elders. The destiny of the Druid Emrys and the Once and Future King being passed down for the last millennia. They knew the ancient prophecy as etched on cave walls and as an oral tale, but never manifesting itself as a prophetic vision to a once in generation oracle.

Idris started to rise after Cafell finished.

“Cafell is an Oracle, she has already seen part of their vision begin to pass with Uther’s crusade against magic. We must take action to change something concerning the King. He is the threat against Albion.” Idris said with all eyes turned towards him.

"What will we do with the King? We are a peaceful people, Idris," said one of the elders.

Idris nodded, having already given that thought.

”Cafell wouldn’t have been given this vision to us if we were to be violent. I think we don’t have enough information about Uther to know what to do yet,” he said. 

“Could it be that Uther is the Once and Future King?” One of the younger men in the crowd had spoken up.

" I dreamed of Uther only destroying symbols of Albion. It may be someone of relation to Uther, though. The Once and Future King is foretold to be royalty, right?" Cafell had ended her answer directed to the Elders.

“Uther is descended from the Fisher King. Though the Fisher King’s existence is up to speculation,” a gravelly voice answered her, “ The writings of Ynys Manaw foretell the Once and Future King will be a direct descendant of The Fisher King through his only surviving son Alexander.” 

It was Hanes who answered her. He was the oldest of the camp and frequently delved into the lore of Emrys and the Once and Future King.

Then the groundbreaking sound of hooves thundered through the air. Though before a defensive magical outburst could happen, the straggling group recognized the rider as one of their scouts who was sent to report back on Camelot. 

Barely a moment after she had dismounted, she reported her findings.

“I met with the court physician, Gaius, under the guise of illness. The queen has died in childbirth. Uther blames magic for her death, and promptly issued a proclamation against magic a half an hour after Igraine's death.”

She stopped to take a breath, but Idris was starting to connect the dots.

“The child, a prince, is healthy, but Uther has barely spared him a thought,” she continued.

Idris felt a tug of destiny on his mind. The dream of Albion, the connection with Uther, and the bloodline all indicated something.

The Once and Future King has been born as the son of Albion’s doom.

——

After hours of debate, the camp had elected to take the Prince from the castle away from Uther in hopes that he wouldn't be corrupted and twisted away from his destiny.

Idris, Adewyn, the scout who was called Alis, and Ivor, the surviving camp's top hunter, were, four days later, were sneaking into Camelot's crowning castle.

Idris's stomach was twisting in his stomach. He was torn on his decision to kidnap the young Prince so he could complete his destiny. Was he taking away or creating the choice for the Prince to be his person at almost a week old. 

The Prince would have the highest quality of life if he called off the mission. Palaces with servants and an education to marvel at. He'd be well trained to be a king, practically living the part since birth.

But Idris knew a good king was more than where he grew up or how well he could recite the Livy’s annals of Rome. A good king put the people before himself, he was their protector. Uther had broken his sacred vow to his people the moment he attacked the weak and exiled families to a life of superstition, fear, and dread. 

Cafell’s vision had been so clear the Uther was Albion’s bane, but his son was her light. 

With his resolve strengthened, Idris and the group skirted along the citadel’s towering walls. The guards either failed to hear them or felt the strongest suggestion to sleep in their life. 

It took over an hour, but the group made it to a small side door undetected. They continued with the plan once they made it through the back exit for the servant’s quarters. Idris and Alis would secure the Prince. Adewyn and Ivor would disable the warning bell.

Idris was shocked at the state of the castle since the last time he had been inside of it ten years ago. Gone were the beautiful tapestries and gilded torch holders. In their place was black mourning tapestries only illuminated by dripping, dim candles. It provides a warm glow of gloom. 

The guards were easy enough, sleep suggestions, and the occasional spell which would make a sword weighs two or three times its normal weight made sure the pair moved through the castle safely. They carefully snaked through the long halls of the third floor when they noticed one lone candle stand stood outside a door with three guards posted.

Soon though, the imposing guards were asleep beside their posts.

Alis placed her palm on the rosewood door, and it slowly swung open. Idris found himself holding his breath. The anticipation of Albion and the mission’s seemingly success was starting to catch up to him.

The room was filled with a golden light. Near the slit windows was an elaborately carved crib, and in that crib was a silent child with a heavy looming destiny. 

Alis slowly scooped him up, he barely shifted in her grasp, and she let a smile loose. She was drawn to an oversized pendant tucked in between the blankets with a small hand holding on to it. The Pendragon crest was made of gold, with small emeralds for eyes. 

The peaceful moment was interrupted by the shrills of the warning bell. Idris, furrowing his brow, began to lead the way out of the room into a larger area for a transportation spell. Traveling with a newborn meant extra precaution needed to be taken with magical travel. 

Luck wasn't on their side though, as they left the child's room, they were pinned on both sides by a throng of guards. The King, himself, made his way to them with his sword drawn.

“Arthur—” Uther spoke before thinking, letting his emotions seep through his usual emotionless wall. 

“Give him to me,” commanded Uther, then using the voice of an almighty king. His sword was leveled a meter from Alis. Idris knows the only reason he hasn’t run both of them through was that they had his only son.

“Uther Pendragon, you have trampled your allies. You are a man blinded by hatred, and you are the bane of Albion. I will not allow you to continue destroying,” Idris said. His hood was covering his face, but he was staring at the man in the eye. 

You- how dare you take my son!” Uther shouted. The moonlight showered his pale parlor. His eyes had a cold glint, one of an authoritative man bent by none.

But, Idris saw something else in Uther that day besides rage and hatred, and a gleaming cold glint, something akin to how a father loves his son, but what was written and seen had come to pass. 

“Prophecies long before you and I were even born have been in motion, Uther Pendragon, you know so very little about what you have destroyed and will destroy. 

Uther raised his sword high, charging the short distance between him and Idris before Alis’ transportation spell whisked them away from the stabs of swords. 

——

The large open field which always guarded the camp was now one of holes. Each five feet deep dug by the grieved who felt the hole would also fit them well. 

One by one, the camp buried and struggled to say goodbye to the ones who never got to reply. Idris found himself looking out across it as the small group galloped past it towards the border of Camelot. The holes were now small mounds of displaced earth. 

The light cries of a baby from the horse behind him reminded him of his impending task: Prince Arthur and his future. Some called for the Prince to be raised as a Druid. Others said to return him to Uther in hopes for an end to the purge. 

Idris knew Arthur, to be the Once and Future King, could not be a druid. If a union of man and magic were to happen to have two men come from a background of magic would upset the balance.

However, giving Arthur back to Uther threatened to destroy the prophecy entirely—with that, Albion was destroyed, and the purge would continue.

The only other option, the option the council itself approved, was the Prince be sent to Sir Ector, a minor noble. His impoverished fief was on the border of Escetir, close to the camp. Not only that, Arthur would receive an education needed for kingship and introduction to the culture surrounding Camelot. 

And so, the group arrived at Sir Ector's fief in the dead of night a week later. The small estate and surrounding village were settled in a valley with the Ridge of Ascetir looming in the background. A few struggling wheat fields filled in the empty spaces between mountain and man.

The group left the Prince at the doorsteps of the mild manor house. His life and the fate of Albion forever altered.


	2. The Vagabond

The night was warm and calm as Hunith stoked the hearth. Her mind was turning over the contents of a letter she received a week ago.  
Gaius, her long-time friend in Camelot, had written to her of upheaval, genocide, and about a vagabond running away from certain death.   
His name was Balinor, the last Dragon Lord alive after Uther’s purges, but besides his former profession and the time of his arrival—soon, she thinks—that was all she had known.  
It was at that moment that a heavy knock interrupted her musings. Startled, a jolt of adrenaline hit her as she opened the door, hoping it was Balinor.  
“Are you Hunith, the friend of Gaius?” he asked her.   
Hunith gave a swift nod and shut the door quickly behind him.  
“I don’t have much, but you can sleep next to the hearth.” Hunith looked over her two-room cottage. She had tried to make it look acceptable with new rushings on the ground, fresh bread for the next morning, and an active fire going, but she knew it couldn't compare to the castle Balinor came from.  
“Thank you, Hunith.” He took the blanket she gave him and laid next to the fire.  
——  
The following day Hunith had made them a breakfast of porridge.  
She took a few bites of her breakfast. “What are you going to do now?”   
"To be honest, I have little idea. My father before me and I had lived in harmony with our dragonkin. But after their slaughter, I sometimes wish I was with them instead of this life."  
Hunith recognized his words. She had heard similar words from the boys who had survived the last few wars. They looked over their shoulders for their brothers to only find empty spaces. Their hollow eyes echoed Balinor’s.   
Quietly, she reached out for his hand and gave it a squeeze.   
"If they loved you, then they would never wish their fate on you. You are strong to have survived to this point," she said, before realizing she might have gone too personal.  
But, he squeezed her hand back, and a few tears pricked his worn eyes.   
——  
It was six months until Balinor realized he could love again.   
——  
A year after Balinor witnessed the imprisonment of the last of his kin, he joined Hunith in front of the small church in the glow of a setting sun. The wind blew through her hair, adorned with wildflowers, as he took her hand in his and promised to be with her in sickness and in health.   
——  
A few months after their wedding, Balinor’s magic woke him up in the dead of night. It was rare for the magic inside of him to stir so much as to wake him up, unless it was an omen. He quickly dressed just to stroll outside and see if anything was, for lack of better words, off. The air was crisp and cold as Balinor circled their small cottage. Nothing seemed to be off...except the far-off glow westward. Camelot was off to the west, only a league or so from the small border village.   
As the glow brightened, Balinor squinted and saw soldiers riding in. Not just any soldiers—Camelot’s knights. Panic seized him as he ran inside.   
Hunith caught him bursting in and with a gentle movement, placed her hands on his shoulders to calm him. "What's wrong?"  
“Soldiers.” He broke away from her. “Soldiers from Camelot. How could I have been so foolish? I know Uther too well to know he’s just given up on me. “   
His magic rises up inside of him as he flings objects towards his travel pack.  
“Balinor, where are you going? Whatever happens, we can face it together.” Hunith lights another candle.   
“No...no, Hunith. Uther is a cruel, fanatical man. If he ever finds out if we were together, he will torture you to the brink to find me. Hunith, you must swear to me that if anyone comes for you, say you don't know me."  
“I won’t. I promised to be with you in sickness and in health and in this. Let me join you,” Hunith pleads.   
Balinor takes her face in his hands and gives her one last kiss. He then begins to mutter a spell and is gone, leaving Hunith on the floor to face destiny alone.   
It is only when Hunith finds out she is pregnant that the toll of Balinor’s absence truly hits her. She understands the boys of war when they turn to look over their shoulder and see no one there.   
——  
She smiles again when she sees her son safely in her arms.   
Merlin.  
His name was Merlin, and Hunith swore to herself that he would be safe in the upheaval of the world.   
It was a simple afternoon when Hunith learned that Merlin was special like his father.  
He was only a few weeks old, but in his frustration at not being able to reach a small straw doll, he performed his first act of magic.  
That was the day that Hunith began to condition herself to hide Merlin's magic. No, the midwife could not check on him. No, she could not leave him with the neighbor next door to go to the small market. No, she could not write even Gaius for help, for the Crown looked over him.  
——  
Cafell, the Oracle, felt a great stir pulling her to the edges of a village. Idris accompanied her as these magical pulls could not be ignored in such a period of change.  
"I think it's connected to the prophecy. I've never felt such a strong magical current such as this one," Cafell whispered to her companion as they strolled into the small village.  
“Could it be Emrys?” asked Idris.  
“I think so. Have you ever felt such power?” answers Cafell. They were being pulled toward a thatched cottage on the village’s edge.  
"No...no, I haven't."  
It was at that moment that they saw a woman carrying a baby walked past them. She gave them a small glare for staring at her so.   
Cafell and Idris lowered their eyes, but the child’s power confirmed it. Emrys was born, and the prophecy was in motion.  
Nevertheless, many obstacles stood in the way of Albion, obstacles Idris and Cafell were determined to help the Once and Future King and Emrys overcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I am not too happy with this chapter as romance writing is far from being my forte, but nevertheless, I am glad it's done.  
> Now that the introductory chapters have been written, the story will get rolling.   
> Next chapter: Arthur and Merlin meet!


	3. The Boy Over the Border

The dawning sun was in Arthur’s eyes as he clumsily held the wooden sword. He wasn’t ready for the first blow. Any six-year-old sparring with an eleven-year-old isn’t. It comes, and he stumbles backward, his foot finally catching itself into the pliable dirt before he tumbled to the ground.

Arthur heaved, and squared up his shoulders like he'd seen the knights in training do. This was the beginning of his path to knighthood, he thought. Arthur's short daydream of knights in shining armor ended with another blow and a crash to the ground.

Admonishing himself, Arthur rushed back onto his feet and made a clumsy lunge.

His opponent, Kay, the Lord's son, effortlessly dodged his charge. “Come on, Wart, you have to hit my sword to have a sword fight.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes at Kay’s nickname for him, and with refound determination, he unleashed a fury of strikes. Kay would finally understand how it felt to be taunted.

But even with his increased ferocity, Arthur lost the battle.

“Try some training before you challenge a knight in training, Wart.” Kay pranced out of the small training courtyard, leaving Arthur behind in the dirt.

Arthur huffed and picked himself up, now covered in dirt and sweat. The Mistress of the Keep, Simone de Selestat, a woman from the continent, would be on him about missing morning Mass if he continued to sit in the dust, bemoaning his defeat.

\---

Mass was never fun for Arthur. He believed in God and the Communion of Saints, but Mass dragged on for what it seemed like forever. He was often hooked on what Kay had told him about the Church before he was born. Supposedly, King Uther issued a command enforcing Catholicism to be the religion of Camelot. Still, before that, there was another religion in the land, a much older religion with magic and high priestesses, and witches and warlocks.

It was this religion that Arthur found fascinating, but besides the existence of magic, something that if it was practiced meant execution, that was all Arthur knew about it.

“Pay attention, boy,” Selestat hissed in his ear as the Alleluia began; “You’re supposed to sing.”

With reluctance, Arthur began to sing an out of tune Alleluia, and his thoughts faded back to the land of magic, knights, and witches.

\--

After Mass, the Lord, his Lady Ahelis, Kay, and Arthur took breakfast. Arthur stirred a lukewarm bowl of porridge and heard the mundane talks of the Lord and Lady.

“I defeated Wart in a sword fight today,” Kay declared.

Arthur scowled at him, embarrassed. He was already embarrassed enough that he lost so quickly, but now Lord Ector knew too.

"Kay, it is dishonorable to challenge a mere boy to a sword fight. You should know that by now since you're a squire under Sir Lefric's tutelage. I will alert him of this dishonor immediately.” Sir Ector’s voice was grim.

Arthur was shocked; Kay was rarely punished.

“But father,” argued Kay, “Arthur challenged me!”

Sir Ector’s tone softened. “Arthur, is this true?”

Arthur nodded. He began to worry. Would he be punished? What if _he_ was the dishonorable one?

“Why did you do that, Arthur?”

“I—I want to be a knight like Kay will be,” Arthur said, voice shaking.

Sir Ector looked surprised, but not angry, like Arthur thought he would be.

“Well, I will need to ask Sir Lefric about training you. I cannot promise you, young Arthur, that he will train you. If he doesn’t, well, I am afraid he is the only knight in our fief.”

Arthur gave Lord Ector a formal thanks like he had been taught, but after breakfast, he couldn't contain the excitement anymore. He ran through the halls, jumping, skipping along the way. He, Arthur, a ward of an impoverished fief on the border of Camelot, could become a knight.

The only thing that stood in his way was Sir Lefric saying no. He needed to prove himself, right? Arthur knew knights proved themselves at tournaments, or by quests, so since he was far too young for a tournament, Arthur decided that a quest he could prove to Sir Lefric that he could be a knight.

\---

Sundays were a day of rest in Camelot, and also Arthur’s favorite since it was the one day that Father Perroy wouldn't tutor him and Kay in Latin. Arthur quickly prepared his quest by packing his wooden sword, a pack with barley bread, and a water pouch.

The manor was on top of a small hill that overlooked the small village and fields. Beyond this was the valley that was enclosed by looming mountains of the Ridge of Ascetir, essentially isolating Sir Ector’s fief from the rest of Camelot.

Arthur tread down the small trodden path through the village. Some children his own age was playing a game of tag while still others were inside with their parents relaxing. He knew them, but they stayed away because he was the ward of the Lord. Arthur sighed and almost stopped his quest to try to join them. It would be fun to play with someone else besides the blocks and small wooden figurines in the manor house.

He saw Thomas, one of the older village boys, engaged in a mock battle with one of his younger brothers with sticks. Arthur longed to join them. As soon as he approached the pair, however, the boys reverently stepped out of his way.

Arthur opened his mouth to speak and then shut it. It was no use. The boys still stood on either side of them: their eyes to the ground. Arthur was alone, like so many other times before, and so he continued forward, not even giving Thomas a word.

\--

Arthur didn’t know how far he walked, but the sun told him that it was mid-afternoon, and he had yet to see a beast to slay or a maiden to save. He was in a forest now with a looming creek, dense bush. It was surrounded in an air of mystery.

Sun rays danced on maroon rocks, and Arthur, clutching his wooden training sword from earlier, scanned his surroundings, as he would imagine a real knight would. Surly, the beast would be here. The place was unlike any place he had been before. Everything was still and serene.

Then a branch behind him broke.

Arthur whipped around, readying himself, for what he imagined to be his last fight on Earth or his first victory. His sword ended up at the throat of a scrawny boy, probably from the surrounding village ruled over by Sir Ector.

"Halt! Who goes there!" Arthur said in a voice that he thought was demanding, thought it didn’t sound as brave as he’d like it to. 

The boy’s eyebrows rise, and Arthur begins to wonder why the boy wasn’t intimidated by a sword in his face. To be fair, the sword was dull-edged and made of wood.

“Why are you wandering in the forest? You are just a child,” Arthur said with an air of decorum.

The boy giggles. “So are you.”

“No, I am Arthur, Ward of Sir Ector of Camelot!”

“Well, then I am Merlin of Ealdor in Escetir.”

Arthur could feel his jaw slack. He wasn’t in Camelot anymore; he was in the land of the enemy: Escetir. The kingdom Sir Ector feared would take over his fief and attack Camelot through. He had journeyed too far.

“What’s wrong?”

"I can't be here. Escetir is an enemy of Camelot," Arthur said as he lowered the sword. It was evident that Merlin wouldn't hurt or attack him: he would have attempted it already.

“Who said that? I don’t know you; how could you be my enemy?” Merlin replied.

 _He does have a point_ , Arthur thought. This boy wasn’t the kind to pillage Camelot.

“What are you doing in Escetir?”

"I was on a quest so I could become a page. It looks like I'll have to end that, there are no beasts or maidens here," Arthur said, crestfallen.

“Well, there are legends of a griffin who lives in this wood. If you want to look for it together, I can take you to the mouth of this creek.” Merlin’s eyes alight with boyish excitement.

Arthur enthusiastically agreed.

“So, what are you going to do when you find the beast?” Merlin guided Arthur up the stream and foliage.

“I will slay it like a knight would,” Arthur said as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“That’s terrible!” Merlin looked at him with horror. “What did the griffin do to deserve it?!”

 _Isn’t the point of beasts to slay them?_ _They’re magic!_ “Well, they hurt people.”

“This one hasn’t,” said Merlin. “The legend says that people have only seen it in these woods, not that it devours men whole.”

"Well, if it hasn’t eaten anyone… then I guess it would be dishonorable to slay it.”

The boys continued to chatter as they reached a clearing. They couched in the bushes on the border of it and awaited the griffin to make itself known.

"Where is it?" Artur asked, getting impatient. The sun was becoming lower in the late afternoon. Soon he would need to leave for Camelot again if he could make it back before nightfall.

“I don’t know!” Merlin was just as impatient. “My mother told me it comes out every afternoon."

“Where is Ealdor, anyways?" Arthur asked.

“It’s a short ride from where we met,” explained Merlin. “I come here almost every day hoping to find fairies.”

“Why fairies?”

“I wanted to see a creature of magic. Fairies are supposed to be far more common than griffins,” Merlin said, matter of factly.

“Magic? That’s outlawed!”

"Maybe in Camelot, but not in Escetir. Magic is permitted, though people will fear you for it," Merlin said in a tone that almost sounded ashamed as if he was hiding something.

Arthur nodded in understanding. “That’s very different from Camelot. The Lord’s only son, Kay, tells me that King Uther will burn you at the stake for magical practices. Something about magic and God,” Arthur says quietly.

“Camelot sounds like a scary place,” Merlin said.

"Well, not really. I live on Sir Ector's land, and he is a good man," Arthur responded. He, however, could not get the bad taste in his mouth that Merlin feared his home. Arthur decided to change the subject.

“Any sign of the griffin?” Arthur asked. Merlin shook his head, and the sun was even lower. It was getting harder to see the clearing. “I have to go, Lord Ector will be cross with me if I am late, especially if he finds out I left Camelot,” Arthur said, standing up and placing his sword in between his shirt and belt.

"Arthur, come back next Sunday? We can look for the griffin again," Merlin said hopefully.

“Goodbye till next Sunday,” Arthur called back, and he disappeared in the trees.

\--

It was dark when Arthur returned to the manor, sweating and out of breath, he had run from the clearing to the estate itself. Kay was standing near the small wall that surrounded the manor. When he saw Arthur, his face lit up.

“Arthur! Arthur! Where have you been? Lord Ector was about to send out the garrison to look for you!” the boy exclaimed while running up to him.

Arthur was taken about by Kay’s urgency, “I was on a quest so Sir Lefric would take me on as a page,” Arthur said, dejection set in as he realized that he couldn’t kill a malevolent beast to prove himself.

"What? All of this danger over becoming a knight?" Kay said, astonished as the pair entered the manor.

“Yes.” Arthur couldn’t look Kay in the eye.

"I'll go see what Father has said about this matter, and tell you in the morning," Kay said, softening his tone as they reached de Selestat, who took him from Kay and gave him a lecture.

Arthur, even after the lecture, didn't regret it. Even if he didn't prove himself to be a knight, that didn't mean that the day was lost because he made a friend. Merlin was his first-ever friend, and it had been worth it at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading so far!

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my ever-patient cousin: LadyTroodon for the advice and grammar help.


End file.
